For Her
by xXSilent-CrescendoXx
Summary: 'When she asks him to, and he knows she will, he will kill for her'. - Speculation for before and during 'Shiva'. Implied Tiva.


**AN: Hi! This is my first NCIS fic, and it's a piece to fit in-between Shabbat Shalom and Shiva. Let's ignore the fact that it'll probably be rendered AU within the next, what is it, 48-ish hours(?). I've always been a Tiva shipper, and I feel like it's close. However, I feel they should leave it a little while so that Ziva has time to heal from this latest installment in the mess that has been her relationship with her father. Y'know, for the sake of realism. This fic isn't so much Tiva as it is implied, but I hope you enjoy it nonetheless. Who knows, I may go the whole hog one day and pour out my little fangirl heart with a real story (as opposed to...well, this).**

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"Abba!" she cries, desperately reaching for her father's lifeless form. It shouldn't, but it breaks her heart. Bullet wounds, bright and bloody, decorate his chest and she can't help but think that it shouldn't have ended like this. He shouldn't have come here; she had been perfectly content with things as they were. The odd phone call had been enough, it had been all she needed. He did not have to come here, he did not have to lift and then dash her hopes so cruelly.

He did not have to die.

She had been willing to try and forgive him for his past, for all the missed ballet recitals, the countless bedtimes he had not been there to tuck her in. She had been willing to try and work past Mossad, past the betrayals. She had even been willing to excuse Somalia.

Their conversation at the diner had brought her hope. She had allowed herself a few minutes, on the way back from lunch, to wistfully wonder what would happen if she were ever to marry and have children. It was a notion she'd entertained briefly before, but this was the only time she'd ever been able to see even the merest hint of a grandfather being present.

"Who did this?" she hears Tony ask, but nothing else registers. Her grief consumes her and she allows it to overtake every other sense. She does not hear them leaving, does not notice she's alone. She cradles her father's face, wondering if he knows that she loves him.

...

She does not know whether the monochrome of Tony's apartment is comforting or not. Despite it all, she is acutely aware of the fact that her first time here should have been under more pleasant circumstances. It is irrational and she knows it, but a bubble of irritation wells up within her. He's been to her apartment many times, but not once has the invitation been extended the other way. In fact, she's almost certain that she's only here because Gibbs has ordered it so. She hears him in the kitchen, making preparations to leave for the hospital. He's given her towels, told her which way the shower is, and to take anything she wants from the refrigerator, but she can't bring herself to move.

So she stands. It is not the strict stance of the soldier she's been brought up to be, nor is it the slumped slouch of the aggrieved. She eyes the window, sees it on the latch so as to let a gentle breeze in, and wonders if she'd survive the fall.

"Don't you even think about it," Tony says gruffly, wearily, and she jolts back into reality. Tony walks towards her, takes the towels and sits her down on the black leather of his couch. Like he would when dealing with a child, he crouches down to her level and captures her face within his hands. Her lips tremble, and he wants to kiss it away, that pain that has made itself so apparent in her face. He's seen her hurt before, has had to deal with the aftermath before, but it's never been as bad as this. He curses Eli silently, lips curling with disgust. It's the ultimate betrayal, his death. He couldn't have done it quietly, out of the way in Israel where Ziva wouldn't have had to deal with it so intensely. No, he just _had _to come here and break her some more. She notices his change in expression, from caring to angry, and wonders if she's the reason behind it. Maybe she's not welcome here; this is, after all, Tony's limbo, the place in-between work and play. She pulls away slightly, not wanting her father's blood to find itself on his clothes. She wasn't even sure for whose benefit it was; Tony was not a fan of Eli and Eli had never been fond of Tony. There's a part of her that wants it to believe she's trying to keep the two separate to respect them both, but deep down she knows it's for her.

She'll share her tears and her feelings tonight. She's even begrudgingly certain that she'll share her nightmares. But the blood?

It's hers and she's not sharing that.

...

It's 2300 hours, or thereabouts, she hasn't looked at the clock in a while. Tony's in the shower and she's curled up on his bed. On, not in. The duvet's inviting, she can tell it's freshly washed. The pillows are plumped, and she briefly wonders if he does it himself or has someone to do it for him. A few years ago, it would have surprised her to find out he took care of his home by himself. But now that she'd gotten to know him, the _real _Tony, it would not be shocking in the slightest.

She's not the only one to have lost a parent today, though she doubts that Vance would call his children this late at night to break the news to them. No, he would wait until morning, travel to them, sit them down and gently explain to them that he was sorry, that he would do anything to make it not so, but they were now motherless. He would hold them as they cried, biting back his own unshed tears until he could be absolutely certain he was alone.

He would not let his children down with weakness.

At the edges of her own, personal grief, she ached particularly for Kayla. She was halfway through adolescence, a confusing enough time as it was, but now she would have to endure it without the presence of a mother to help her through. Ziva knows how disquieting that experience could be, and thanks the stars that the Director in Kayla's life is not as occupationally bound as the one in her own had been.

It is the last thought she has before her eyes haze over and oblivion beckons.

...

Tony dries himself off slowly, taking extra time with his hair; he hates the feeling of a damp pillowcase. _Ziva's in my bedroom_, he thinks, and then laughs silently, bitterly, at the sheer absurdity of it all. He knows Ziva probably feels strange here, she's not exactly been a frequent visitor, but he also knows that it's his fault. He's often, over the years, thought about asking her over, but something always stopped him. The fear of intimacy, it was something prevalent within her also. She's been taking steps lately, they both have. He wonders how far back recent events will set her. How closed up she'll become because of this whole damned business. Because that's all it ever is with Eli, _business. _His life had been about his work, and now his death will be too. Iran and Israel would almost definitely enter lethal conflict now, and if he'd only had the foresight to just warn someone that he was coming here...

People are going to die, Tony knows this and there is nothing he can do to stop it. He's only just allowed himself to acknowledge this recently, to accept it fully, but he loves her. Hopelessly, unequivocally so. He'd rationalised Somalia with revenge, he was simply seeking justice for the death of a co-worker, a friend. When that bag had been pulled from her face something had clicked, and maybe it wasn't the classic 'Grinch's heart growing two sizes' kind of revelation, but he'd known from that moment on, that whatever it took to keep her alive and happy, he'd do it without question. Which was why he'd been so anxious about Ray, and why he'd been, despite the sadness and regret it brought him, so supportive over their relationship. It had made her smile, and if that was what she wanted, if _he _was the one Ziva wanted, Tony would not have gotten in the way.

His love for her was the reason he'd opened up to her about his mother. It was the reason he'd listened so intently to her stories of Tali, and later set her up with her own mini opera. Shmeil had been a shock, though one of the most pleasant kind. And he had been glad to have been invited to share yet another part of Ziva's secret life with her.

Tony knows that she feels something for him too. That she has done for quite some time. He's not the ridiculously socially inept wreck he puts on the front of. He knows he's probably caused her some pain with his not letting on that he's had her figured out for a while now. But he also knows that it's not their time yet, and it won't be for a while. So he's going to do what she needs him to do in the meantime. He's going to soothe her when the nightmares start, he'll rub her back and calm her tearful hiccups. He's going to listen to her, coax her into feeling something other than grief for this man who really does not deserve her tears in the slightest. Even anger will do; it's been but seven hours and already he can't bear the haunted look in her eyes.

And when she asks him to, and he knows she will, he will kill for her.

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**AN2: Ziva probably won't ask him to kill for her, but I honestly think that he would if she did. It's just... We can speculate forever, but we're not going to know until Shiva airs. Those promos... they drive me crazy!**

**Anyway, thanks for reading, hope you enjoyed it :) Also, if you're up for it, maybe leave a review? It'd mean a lot considering this is my first NCIS fic and all. :)**


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